


Of Shadows and Desires

by XxTheDarkLordxX



Series: Of and In-between [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff, Getting Together, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Harry Potter in Denial, Harry is a closet Draco Malfoy fan, Humor, M/M, Neighbors, Pining, Quidditch, Quidditch Player Draco Malfoy, Sassy Harry Potter, Sports Reporter Harry Potter, The Quibbler, Veela Draco Malfoy, minimal angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-26
Updated: 2019-01-26
Packaged: 2019-10-14 23:59:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17518322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XxTheDarkLordxX/pseuds/XxTheDarkLordxX
Summary: As a sports reporter, Harry shouldn’t have a favourite Quidditch team or player. A professional remains objective. But that went out the window the moment Malfoy was drafted.Malfoy, who was still a git, who was still charming despite everything, and who also just so happened to be his neighbour.





	Of Shadows and Desires

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fantom_ftnoise](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fantom_ftnoise/gifts).



> Hello! This fic is my first 6k giveaway milestone. It will be 6 stories and each one gifted to a different winner of the giveaway. This story was supposed to be 6k words but it's me and I can't keep to restrictions for shit, but really, is any of us surprised?
> 
> Fantom_ftnoise I was really happy that you were the first giveaway winner and I loved that you chose this story that you wanted out of the list. I had a lot of fun with this and I really hope you enjoy it! 
> 
> I would like to give a shout out to @forward-pass for being the best soulmate in the entire world. She helped me so fucking much with this story. Her knowledge on sports, whether it's Hockey or Esports was so useful and this story wouldn't have happened without her or even been a passing thought if she hadn't been who she is. 
> 
> I would like to thank @phoenix4dragon for saying yes to being my beta so quickly. I would like to thank @unicornsandphoenix for being the amazing person she is and giving this a look over as well. I adore you, Sophia, and I am so happy you were the second winner and I can't wait to get started on your story.
> 
> There are some Hockey terms used in this story, I turned one of them into a play on the wizarding world but the rest I kept as they are. If you know hockey, then you might recognize them. I thank Tempe for helping me with that. 
> 
> I sincerely hope you all enjoy this and have as much fun with it as I had when writing it. 
> 
> |Warning| I do not own Harry Potter in any way, shape or form. All rights to the characters are trademarked by J.K. Rowling. The only thing is mine is the way I spin the story. It is for entertainment only and not a part of the official storyline.
> 
> Note, the wings are a royalty-free stock image that I bought and then colored on photoshop myself.

  


* * *

  


“I saw you play.” 

Malfoy’s hands were full of groceries and Harry had _known_ it wasn’t the best time to start a conversation, but if he hadn’t then who knows how long it would have taken him for the next one. Courage was fickle and when it came to Malfoy; Harry had little to none. 

He had known that being Malfoy’s neighbour would come with many things; anger, annoyance, curiosity, sometimes grief, but most of all he _yearned_. Yearned for something that could be if he ever gave it a shot. In the beginning, years ago, he had thought that they would tolerate each other and that would be it. But then Malfoy was drafted to be a Seeker for the Falcons, and suddenly they had something to talk about. 

“Then you saw the disaster that happened,” Malfoy said into the door as he held one hand on the knob. His back was too straight, and his wings were fluttering angrily as he refused to look at Harry. The soft pastel rainbow colours were always a distraction, but Harry tried to look past Malfoy’s wings and focus on the little he could see of his face.

“I wouldn’t call it a disaster.” Oh, it had been, but clearly Malfoy already knew. As a sports reporter for the Quibbler, Harry went to all kinds of games, even Gobstones, but Quidditch was his favourite to see. 

Their original indifference had turned into a tentative understanding that later blossomed into a fond friendship. Harry had thought they would become something more, but that was before Malfoy started to date a teammate. He had watched Malfoy fall in love, get engaged, and then watched him fall apart when the relationship ended disastrously—as disastrously as the Falcons when their coach was arrested on fraud charges and the team disbanded. 

“The Tornadoes won,” Harry said quietly, more to himself than anything. 

Malfoy had been picked up by the Tornadoes after the disbandment and was truly the best player the team had. 

“Yeah,” whispered Malfoy as he placed his forehead against the door. “We won, but it’s not good enough. Our points are so low that we’re 7th in the regional league.”

“Seventh isn’t—”

“Harry, _please_.” Malfoy looked up and the pleading in his eyes was just as visible as it had been in his voice. “Don’t patronize me, don’t lie to make me feel better. We both know that if Lancashire wins against Pride of Portree then we’ll be out of the running.” 

Harry snorted, he couldn’t help it. He put his hands up when Malfoy’s wings fluttered, and he was faced with a _very_ angry Veela. 

“I’m sorry, it’s just, do you honestly think that Lancashire of all teams will win? They have been performing horribly all season. Not to mention the Portrees are 5th in the league. They don’t even have to _try,_ and they’d still be a shoo-in, their position is safe, and the match is honestly just a formality.” 

“Who cares if they aren’t doing good right now? The Tornadoes haven’t been good since ’94, what’s your point?”

“The Tornadoes are only good because _you_ are there,” Harry said softly as Malfoy’s wings settled. “You make that team what it is, and you _know_ it.” 

Malfoy’s shoulders slumped and so did his hands as the bags fell lower on his arms. “It all comes down to that, doesn’t it?” 

“I don’t think I understand.” 

“You’re a reporter, aren’t you?” Malfoy asked with a barely-there hint of a smile. “Do your job for once.” 

Harry clutched his chest as he gasped. “I will have you know that I _always_ do my job, thank you very much. Not just anyone can do what I do.” 

An arched brow shouldn’t be so hot, but Harry had known years ago that he was whipped for anything that Malfoy did. 

“There are hundreds of sports reporters, Harry. You aren’t special.” 

_You aren’t special._

It should have been a proper insult, but everyone _always_ looked at him as if he was something amazing, something to behold, something special. It was nice to know that Malfoy didn’t see it that way. Even if it was just a jab amongst friends. 

“Any hints as to what I’m looking for?”

Malfoy did grin at that and it was Harry’s favourite thing to see. “You’re the one who likes to sleuth, an expert if I remember our school years correctly.” 

“Malfoy—”

“Draco.”

_“Malfoy.”_

Malfoy sighed as he did every time Harry refused to call him by his first name. But Harry wasn’t going to give in. To give in meant that there was nothing left between them, to give in meant that Harry would have given every piece of himself, and that wasn’t something he could do. There _had_ to be some kind of distance.

“Why must you be so stubborn?” Malfoy asked as he hiked the bags higher and turned towards his door. “Is that a missing Gryffindor trait that they never advertise about?”

“Absolutely.”

“I’m not scary, you know, I just look like it,” Malfoy said with a wink over his shoulder, barely visible past his wings. “You can call me by my first name, I won’t hex you.” 

“Self-preservation.” 

Malfoy scoffed. “Now I know you’re taking the piss. No Gryffindor has ever had self-preservation, especially you.” 

“My heart’s the one that needs it.” 

“What?” Malfoy turned to Harry with a frown on his face. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Harry looked at Malfoy’s chin, not able to meet his eyes. 

“Why don’t you figure it out? I hear you’re pretty good at sleuthing too.” 

It wasn’t until Harry rushed inside and nearly shut the door that he heard Malfoy whisper, 

“I’ve never been good at self-preservation of the heart myself.” 

Well, that made two of them. 

  


* * *

  
“I need everything you have on the Tornadoes,” Harry demanded when he stormed into work, quill at the ready to take notes. He ignored the startled interns that had been filing nearby in favour of eyeing Ron intently. 

“Aren’t you the one in charge of the sports articles?” Ron asked with a biscuit halfway to his mouth. “Shouldn’t you know everything about them?”

Harry huffed as he set down his quill and started rifling through his desk. “I know their stats as a team and their stats individually. I know their current line-up, their past line-up, and their records going back to the beginning, but I was talking less _authentic_ information, if you know what I mean.” 

“Gossip, you mean gossip,” a bright voice chimed in as Luna entered the room fully. “Ronald says gossip shouldn’t have a place in papers. Even if it’s true.” 

“Love,” Ron began with a fond grin as he let Luna take a bite out of his biscuit. “Your rumours on the validity of the flying Heliopath is just that, gossip. We should be putting out facts, you know?”

The irony of the Quibbler putting out facts was not lost on Harry, even after working for the paper for six years after Xenophilius stepped down. After the war, trust in the Prophet went down and _someone_ had to step up. With Harry’s endorsement, the Quibbler became a staple in a lot of homes. 

“I’m not going to print any rumours,” Harry grumbled when Luna offered Ron her tea. He loved them but seeing them so domestic made him ache, ache for even a half of what they had. Seeing Ron find love after the divorce with Hermione a few years after the war was a blessing, even if he was jealous. 

“I just need to figure something out.” 

“Oh,” Ron leaned forwards and pushed away his plate. That alone made Harry pause. “Then, in that case, I heard that the England National Brass is looking to put Malfoy on the National team.” 

_“What?”_

Harry’s mouth parted as he slumped in his chair. That had _never_ come up. If Malfoy was slotted for the National team, then that meant he had a shot to play in the Quidditch World Cup should England make it that far. 

Luna hummed as she looked between them, eyes bright. “That makes no sense.” 

“Huh?” Harry asked as he frowned at her. “Malfoy is good enough to be on the National team.” 

“Yes,” she said slowly, eyes on the air around him, but he didn’t want to find out what creature had caught her attention. “But isn’t it the teams that do well in the league that are the ones where players are chosen from?” 

“That’s a fair question,” Harry told Ron. “It’s not often you see an underperformed team have a player get chosen.” And as much as it pained him to admit, the Tornadoes _were_ underperformed. 

“Malfoy is anything but underperformed,” Ron argued. “He was the star player when he played for the Falcons.” 

“Was he?” Luna mumbled as she lifted a finger to the air as if she was touching something Harry couldn’t see. “I thought Greyson Day was.” 

Ron scoffed as Harry scowled. 

“Greyson Day is a twat who got traded to a middle-rank team.” Harry had never liked Greyson, before or after Malfoy dumped him. 

“The Portrees are 5th in the league,” Ron said. “That’s not exactly middle rank.” 

“ _This_ season,” Harry countered, knowing it was useless to argue, he was biased, and everyone knew it. “Point of the matter is that Malfoy was the best thing the Falcons had, and he’s the best thing the Tornadoes now have.” 

“That’s the crux of it all, isn’t it?” Ron said as he leaned back in his chair and folded his hands behind his head. “Malfoy is a great player. It’s not a surprise that the ENB is looking to put him on the National team.” 

“I still think it makes no sense.” 

“Why?” Harry asked Luna. She was wise, far wiser than most gave her credit for, and even if she didn’t know a whole lot about Quidditch, she was their editor for a _reason_. 

“The Tornadoes placement for the season is low, far lower than the ENB would look at. Why would they scout Malfoy when there are players of teams higher up in the ranking that are just as good?” 

Harry bit his lip as his eyes unfocused and his mind wandered. The ENB was pretentious at the best of times and went on rank versus the validity of someone’s skills when it came to selecting spots for the National team. Despite that Malfoy deserved a spot on the team, it really didn’t make sense. The Wanderers held the first spot, hell even the Chudley Cannons were doing better in the current season than the Tornadoes. 

He thought back to how disappointed Malfoy had been despite the win, and it _had_ to be related. 

“Do you think if the Tornadoes rose on the ranks that he’d be selected?”

While Luna only blinked at him, Ron sucked in a sharp breath. 

“You think the ENB told Malfoy that if the Tornadoes could place better, he’d be a shoo-in?”

“Huh,” Luna’s brows furrowed for the barest of moments. “It’s not unheard of, but certainly nothing done recently.” 

“That would explain the pub fight last night.”

“Pub fight?” Harry asked. “What pub fight?”

“Oh!” Ron brushed aside papers and discarded parchments on his desk. “For tomorrow’s edition, I was going to include a fight that took place in the Three Broomsticks last night. Greyson Day started a fight and one of the witnesses says it started over mentions of the ENB.” 

“I’m not following.” 

“Greyson’s management put out a public statement last week that said he was ineligible for the National team due to the ENB’s decision.”

“Right, I remember that,” Harry said slowly. “I’m the one that put it in the sports section. I covered it. Me. You know, the sports editor.” 

Ron lifted a hand in what he assumed was a ‘well?’ gesture. 

“Oh,” Luna whispered before she began to sing a low tune he didn’t recognize. “Jealousy.” 

“Greyson is arguably the best player the Portrees have, no matter how rubbish he is as a person. His team is 5th in the league and he was denied.” 

“You think the person in the fight with him was talking about Malfoy maybe getting a spot?”

“I _know_ that happened,” Ron said with a small quirk of his lips. “That’s how I found out about the rumour to begin with. I just hadn’t figured it all out.” 

Harry wanted to know more, needed to know more. 

“Have you interviewed Greyson about the fight?”

“No, I was going to send an intern. I can’t stand that guy.” 

“I want to do it.” 

Ron arched a brow, and Harry didn’t think he pulled it off, not really. “What’s he got to do with your section?”

“He’s…a Quidditch player?” 

Luna let out a half-laugh and Harry felt a little betrayed. “Protective.” 

His brows furrowed when Luna and Ron looked at each other. Sometimes he wondered if they had their own language, a silent one that no one else knew. 

“Okay,” Ron said, eyes still on Luna. “Go ahead, but I’m not doing whatever article you have to do for your section.” 

“I’ll do it.” 

“Thank you, Luna. You are the best friend I have.” 

“Oi!”

Harry grinned as he grabbed his quill and threw on a cloak. He ignored Ron’s outrage, his mind already figuring out what he wanted to ask Greyson. 

  


* * *

  
The Players Club was never Harry’s favourite place to be. It was an excuse for rich, influential people to brag and fawn over others while ignoring their obscene privilege—a complete waste of time. Only pretentious arses spent their free time at the Players Club, which was why he knew Greyson would be there. 

“Ah, Mister Potter, how odd to see you here.” The low drawl was wrong, far too mocking and held a cruelty that Harry hated. Hated how it tainted the drawl he had come to love. 

Harry didn’t want to turn around, didn’t want to make small talk, but he knew it would be gossip if he didn’t. 

“Mister Malfoy, can’t say I’m surprised to see you here,” Harry said with what he hoped was a sour grimace. 

Lucius’ eyes narrowed, and Harry relished annoying him, it was his favourite pastime. 

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Harry spread his hands and gestured around the room as he said, “It is your peers after all. Those too blinded by wealth to see the suffering of others.” 

Lucius’ hand clenched around the blasted cane he still carried. “I see we still can’t be civil, despite our related interests.” 

A snort left Harry before he thought better of it. “I’m sorry, but we have _nothing_ in common.” 

“We both care about Draco.” 

Harry tried not to freeze, tried not to show how affected he was by Lucius’ words. If Lucius knew, then Malfoy did too, he _had_ to. When Lucius smirked far too smug for Harry’s liking, he stepped forward and narrowed his eyes. 

“Do you?” Harry questioned. He really wanted to know. The walls between his apartment and Malfoy’s were thin without a silencing charm, and Harry had heard _many_ arguments over the years. If Lucius cared for Malfoy, then he had a piss poor way of showing it. 

“The righteous tend to see what there isn’t,” Lucius murmured, and the hatred in his eyes was something Harry knew reflected in his as well. 

“And the wicked lie to hide what there is,” Harry countered as he folded his arms across his chest. He had never been afraid of Lucius—not as a kid, not as a teenager and certainly not as an adult. 

“I can see why you fascinate him.” 

Harry frowned but said nothing, not unless he wanted to give in, and that was _not_ something he was willing to do. 

“I don’t like you.” 

Another snort left Harry as he arched a brow. “The feeling is mutual. I’ve never liked you.” 

They stared at each other and it was already too long, he hated spending any amount of time in Lucius’ presence. 

“If you’ll excuse me, I have business to attend to.” 

He turned around and left without a proper goodbye, something he knew Lucius would take as an insult—good. 

It wasn’t hard to find Greyson, not when he was surrounded by simpering idiots and his fake chuckles reverberated around the room. 

“Excuse me,” Harry said loud enough to interrupt but not enough to draw attention from other groups nearby. Several people looked at him, and the weight of all of them was a lot, but he only locked eyes with Greyson. 

“Potter,” Greyson tilted his head forwards once before turning towards whoever he had been talking to previously. It was dismissive, and Harry clucked his tongue on instinct. It wasn’t often someone had the balls to be so upfront in their rudeness. 

“I have some questions for you and unfortunately now is the only convenient time.” 

“Yes, unfortunate,” Greyson mumbled, profile the only view Harry had of him. “Unfortunately for you; perhaps you can get in touch with my assistant and they can let you know when I’m available.” 

“I’ll do you one better,” said Harry as he pulled out his quill and notebook. “I contacted your publicist instead.” 

It was almost comical how quickly Greyson’s full attention was on him now. 

“Excuse me?”

Harry’s lips quirked as he closed his eyes in what he knew was a fake smile, one that anyone could see. “You’ll be in the Quibbler tomorrow regardless of whether you speak to me or not, and since this conversation could change the narrative of what is said, I assumed your publicist would want to know just in case they have to put out some fires.” 

“Leave us.” The crowd of people dispersed as Greyson stood up straighter and turned more towards Harry, arms crossed, and brows already pinched. He was the epitome of unpleased, and Merlin, Harry was already amused. 

“Is this about the fight last night?”

“Among other things.” 

When the silence stretched, Harry eyed Greyson expectantly. A normal reporter might have taken the lead and asked a number of questions, but he wasn’t a normal reporter. 

“Aren’t you going to ask me anything?”

“You have something to say?”

Greyson frowned, and Harry had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop from grinning. 

“It was nothing. Just a simple misunderstanding. Happens all the time.” 

Harry flipped the pages of his notebook and peered down at what Ron had given him. “You make a habit of punching three people and threatening to sue? That’s something that happens all the time?” 

When he looked up, Greyson’s hands were clenched tightly, and his eyes were focussed on the ground. 

“Obviously not.” 

Obviously. _Right_. 

“Care to tell me what it was about? Your publicist was just as surprised as I was.” 

“I was drunk, who knows what was said.” 

Interesting. 

Harry put his quill and notebook back in his bag and ignored the unsaid questions on Greyson’s face. 

“That’s not what they said. What can you tell me about your resentment after the ENB declared you ineligible to join the National team?” 

Greyson stood up straighter and glared. “There is no resentment. I wasn’t serious about a position, the team had all of us do it.” 

“Mm.” Harry clasped his hands in front of him. “That’s news to me.” He knew for a fact that several members of the Portrees had never applied. 

“What does this have to do with the fight?”

“Nothing, I’m just curious.” 

The sound of Greyson’s jaw clenching was a definite mood improvement, and it made up for running into Lucius. 

“What are your thoughts on the rumours of Draco Malfoy applying for the National team?”

When Greyson inhaled deeply, Harry narrowed his eyes. 

“What does it matter? He doesn’t have a chance, not with the Tornadoes being 7th in the league. They are one spot away from being knocked off. The ENB hasn’t taken someone lower than 5th in decades.” 

“And if the Tornadoes were to climb higher? Then what?”

“They won’t.” It was said with such finality that Harry frowned. The hostility in his eyes was worrying. 

“Do you not think Malfoy deserves a spot on the National team?”

Greyson scoffed, and it took all Harry had to not hex him. “He’s a Veela.” 

_“And?”_

Silence stretched, and Harry didn’t like it. His frown deepened as he stepped forward. “Are you implying that a Veela can’t be on the National team? Malfoy is an amazing Seeker no matter what team he’s on.”

“He’s not even full Veela and yet he gets special treatment.” 

“What?” Harry’s brows furrowed the longer he tried to understand what Greyson was talking about. Harry had been surprised when Malfoy came of age for his Veela heritage but that didn’t change who he was, didn’t change a single thing about Malfoy. 

“Why do you think Malfoy was drafted on a team to begin with?”

“Because he’s talented,” Harry said slowly, far too slowly for Greyson to not know that it was an insult. “Because he’s worked for it. Because he trained for it. Because he deserved it.” 

“It’s because he’s part Veela.” 

Harry’s brows rose as he tried to follow that thought process but couldn’t. 

“You do realize that makes no sense, right?”

Greyson rolled his eyes. “Look, Draco is decent but that’s all he is.” 

“Decent.” How could someone who had been on the same team let alone been engaged to Malfoy ever call him decent?

“He uses his status as a Veela to his advantage.” 

“What expired potions have you been inhaling? No, really,” Harry said when Greyson’s mouth opened. “What spell backfired and left you with half a brain cell?” 

“Can you even comprehend the pure bullshit that left your mouth?” He continued with a hand held up to stall any rebuttal. “Malfoy has never once brought up being a Veela in an interview, and even if he had, so what? He’s a Veela, there is nothing wrong with that, nothing wrong with being one and if you think there is, then that’s on _you_.” 

“You _would_ rise to his defence” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Greyson laughed, and it sounded deranged to Harry. “You think I didn’t notice the way you’d look at him?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Was it denial that fuelled him or just a wish that it was true? His stomach twisted when Greyson laughed again, only the sound was cruel, far crueller than he expected. 

“Or the way he’d pander to you? Always waiting in the hallway for you as if he hadn’t flooed to get home.”

Harry tilted his head; unsure what Greyson was on about. Malfoy was his friend, and they had been so for years. Pandering had never been an aspect of their friendship. 

“You fell for his Veela charms, as does everyone, including in his career.” 

“No,” Harry shook his head firmly before he took a step back. “I fell for him because of who he is as a person and nothing else.”

Greyson shrugged once as if indifferent. “You’ll realize sooner or later, I did.” 

“Just because you’re a tool doesn’t mean I am too. You had him and lost him, and that makes you a joke.” 

“I at least had him. What can you say?”

Harry clenched his hands before he forced himself to relax. “That I’d be lucky to have him in any capacity.” 

Another scoff and an eye roll later, Harry clapped his hands once, signalling he was done. 

“Well, thanks, I have everything I need to know. It was nice getting your confirmation.” 

Greyson’s forehead wrinkled as his lips pursed. “What confirmation?”

“That you take full ownership for the fight, you let yourself get carried away and that you are deeply sorry.”

“That’s not what happened.” 

“No,” Harry agreed. “But it’s what your publicist told me when I talked to them. By the way, they did say that they don’t advise you to talk to the press.”

“I—” 

“And wouldn’t you know it, I just happen to be the press.” Harry grinned when Greyson’s brows furrowed harshly. 

“You lied to me.” 

“No,” Harry shook his head. “I told you I talked to them, which is true. I just didn’t tell you what they said.” 

When Greyson’s mouth parted, and no sound came out, Harry turned around and walked away. 

“Nice talking with you.” 

Sputtering and insults followed him but that was to be expected. Honestly, he wasn’t sure what Malfoy ever saw in someone like _that_. 

On his way out, he flipped off Lucius and if that wasn’t the perfect end to his morning, he wasn’t sure what was. 

Perhaps Ron’s column wasn’t so bad. Maybe a few extra assignments outside of the sports section could be a nice change of pace. 

  


* * *

  
Tired. Harry was tired of a lot of things. His emotions, entitled sports players, idiots, the government but as he walked towards his flat and saw Malfoy waiting for him, he was tired of pretending—tired of acting as if he wasn’t completely in love with Malfoy.

“I heard you had an eventful day,” Malfoy said, back resting on the wall between their doors, the tips of his wings furled over his shoulder and head turned towards the ceiling. 

“Depends on who you spoke to.” 

A small quirk of Malfoy’s lips ignited a warm feeling inside of Harry and part of him hated it, hated how something so simple could change his mood. What was it about Malfoy that could tear his emotions apart so easily?

“You argued with my father?”

“Depends on whether you’re mad or not.” 

Malfoy grinned and Harry knew he’d always be fucked, always feel something for him. 

“He doesn’t like you.” 

“I’m hurt, I thought we were getting along.” 

The small laugh he got in response was almost his undoing. How was it possible that everything Malfoy did got to him?

“I heard you defended my honour.”

Harry stopped in front of Malfoy and frowned when he wouldn’t meet his eyes. 

“You don’t need me to defend your honour.” 

Grey eyes flickered upwards and the surprise in them saddened him. 

“No, I don’t,” Malfoy agreed, voice a breathy whisper. “But it’s nice anyway.” 

“Defending the innocent is embedded in me.” 

“I’m innocent?” Malfoy said with a disbelieving laugh. “I’ve been plenty of things in my life, but innocent isn’t one of them.” 

“Innocent in this matter, yes.” 

When Malfoy opened his mouth to argue, Harry placed a finger on his lips. The breath that caught in response meant something, Harry knew it did. 

“It’s the only way I can do something for you.” 

Malfoy’s forehead wrinkled and his eyes scrunched up in confusion. 

“I’m not—we’re not—it’s—” Harry let out a frustrated sigh. He knew what he felt but couldn’t articulate it into words. 

The smile underneath his finger caused him to look up. The soft expression made his heart beat quicker. 

“Thank you,” whispered Malfoy, Harry’s finger still on his lips, only the grin made it difficult to keep his finger still. 

“Thank you for caring,” Malfoy continued. “Thank you for being you.” 

Harry flushed and he had to look away. Seeing Malfoy’s expression as whispered gratitude filled the air made an atmosphere that he wasn’t sure his heart could survive. 

“Caring about you is easy, it’s not something that needs to be thanked.” 

“And why is that?” Malfoy wrapped his fingers around Harry’s wrist as his thumb rubbed circles on Harry’s skin. “Why is it so easy for you when no one else ever has?”

When Harry bit his lip, unsure what to say, Malfoy tilted his head upward until the pressure of Harry’s finger went deeper as Malfoy’s lips were shaped into a gentle kiss.

“I don’t know,” Harry lied as his hand fell to his side. Courage was fickle and it evaporated completely with Malfoy’s boldness. He wanted to tell him, wanted to say that he was in love with him and had been for years, but he couldn’t. 

He just couldn’t. 

When Malfoy’s wings drooped and a small sad smile graced his lips, Harry knew that the opportunity had passed. He had his chance and didn’t take it. 

“You still have my gratitude,” Malfoy whispered as he pushed off the wall and turned towards his door. One of his wings lightly touched Harry’s face, as if it were a caress and Harry wanted to hold onto it and never let go. 

Except he did. He let it go and with it, Malfoy too. 

  


* * *

  
The sound of a cheering crowd always calmed Harry. It was a distraction, it was something he could focus on and even lose himself to. 

“Is it always so loud?” The barely heard complaint caused Harry to smile as he pulled out his quill. 

“Always.” 

“No wonder I never went to one,” Hermione grumbled, and he knew if he looked, she’d have her arms folded petulantly. 

“Why did you want to come with me? You know I have to interview the players when the game is over too. I’ll be here for hours after the match.”

“I missed you.” 

Harry lowered his notebook and peered down. Hermione’s face was tilted back as she watched the players circle the arena for their pre-match routine. 

“We don’t see each other much these days.”

Guilt welled up and he tried to remember if he had cancelled on her recently or if he hadn’t set anything up in the first place, but he couldn’t recall a single thing. Had it been that long since they spoke?

“I’m sorry.” 

“No,” Hermione shook her head as she grabbed hold of his hand and squeezed once. “It’s my fault too. You’re my best friend, Harry. After the divorce, I said I wouldn’t let my work consume me, but it did. I could have called you at any time too. It’s my fault as well.” 

He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and held on tightly. 

“We can go to that Muggle museum on your next day off,” He mumbled as he closed his eyes. “The one you said you wanted to see but never have the time.” 

“Can we get the cheap biscuits from the stand around the block too?” Hermione asked with a shaky inhale. “We can walk to Russell Square and make a day of it.” 

“Absolutely,” he promised just as the warning bell for the match rang out. 

Hermione jumped in alarm and he couldn’t help but chuckle. “The match is starting.” 

_“Good evening sports enthusiasts,”_ a familiar voice roared as the crowd screamed. 

“Is that—”

_“Today is the match of the moment, tonight will decide the fate of the rest of the season and I know who you are rooting for. I’m Lee Jordan and let’s start the biased commentary, shall we?”_

“Yes,” Harry said with a grin and looked up towards the announcer’s box. Lee had been his favourite announcer during Hogwarts, and he was still his favourite now. 

“So,” Hermione began with a clap of her hands as she wiggled out of Harry’s embrace. “Who are we rooting for?”

_“Right out of the gates Nettles passes the Quaffle to Mulberry who was missing last game due to a Bludger to the head.”_

“Erm.” Harry winced as he looked around to make sure no one was listening. “Professionally, I have no opinion.” 

“Mhm,” Hermione hummed with a wicked grin that always meant trouble. “And off the record?”

“I don’t like either team.” 

_“Mulberry weaves in between Fledgling and Vixen and somehow manages to dodge the Bludger. Perhaps after the last game, his reflexes have kicked in. About time, the Portrees were in rough shape without him.”_

When Hermione arched a brow, he tried not to fidget. 

“The Portrees are an average team. They have been for years. I think some of it boils down to their coach, but that’s neither here nor there. They have a few key players, but the rest don’t try and it’s obvious.” 

“And the other team?”

“Lancashire has had shitty luck with their trades and their players are a season away from retiring. They aren’t doing good and they are below average. I would say maybe one of their players is decent and that’s half at best.” 

_“Oh! Did you see that left-handed throw from Mulberry? Pretentious to try and it would have been flashy if it made it in, but it looks like he threw it too low, it’s a bar down folks as the Quaffle is reflected back to the centre.”_

“So then are we rooting for the underdogs? The team that has bad luck? Sounds like something we’d do.” 

Harry bit his lip as he looked down at his hands. 

“No.”

“Oh?” Her tone was amused, and Harry was sure she already knew, she always did. 

“If Lancashire wins it’ll kick the Tornadoes off the running for the season.” 

“And we don’t want that?”

_“Greyson Day is in possession of the Quaffle. If he makes any score this match, he’ll have broken the Portrees’ record for Chaser scores this century. Not that the number is particularly high in regard to other teams.”_

He shook his head, unable to look at Hermione, didn’t want to see her expression. 

“Malfoy is on the Tornadoes and if the rumours are true, he has a shot at the National team. If Lancashire wins, that won’t happen.” As much as he despised Greyson, he wanted the Portrees to win. 

“I see.” 

When he looked up there was a soft smile on her face, but her eyes were on the match. 

“You know,” She began with a tone that usually preceded a lecture. Harry sighed heavily and had to dodge a smack to his arm. 

“I think you and Malfoy would be an interesting duo.”

“Interesting how?”

_“It’s a no go. Day followed in Mulberry’s lead and it’s another bar down. Only a few minutes into the game and they are already underperforming. Are we surprised? A little. Disappointed? Probably not.”_

“You’re more alike than you think but different enough that it matters.” 

Harry hummed as he watched Lancashire take possession of the Quaffle and one of the members almost fell off their broom from a Bludger. 

“It’s scary,” he admitted, too afraid to tell Malfoy that but Hermione wouldn’t judge, she never did. 

“What is?”

“Loving him.” Harry closed his eyes as the crowd screamed in what could only be a score for Lancashire. “I’ve spent so much of my life thinking about him. I used to hate him, hate what he stood for and hate his lack of morals. The amount of time I spent in school wishing he’d never come back.” He shook his head and his lips quirked up in a wry smile. 

“But then it changed after the war. I started spending time wondering what his life was like. When he was drafted to the Falcons, I thought it was a mistake. At least until I saw him during a training match. He puts everything he has into it, Hermione. Everything. Every time I would interview someone, I kept comparing their passion to his, kept comparing their scores to his. He was in my mind.” 

“And then he became your neighbour?” Hermione prompted when Harry fell silent. 

_“Nettles passes to Mulberry over Poult’s head narrowly avoiding a collision as the two opposing Chasers meet. A ricochet Bludger from Sara Vixen, Lancashire’s best Beater—no offence Fledgling, she’s got you beat—hits the tail end of Mulberry’s broom as he throws to Day who—who drops the Quaffle…”_

Harry’s head snapped up towards the players as Lee’s words registered. Dropped the Quaffle? That hasn’t happened in professional Quidditch in decades. 

_“The strange turn of events is unheard of. Day has 30 wins under his belt and hasn’t performed this poorly since his rookie days, and no one wants a repeat of that.”_

“Harry?”

A shake of his arm had him looking away from the game. 

“Sorry,” he shook his head slowly as he tried to get back to the conversation. “Right, he became my neighbour and I got to know him more. Instead of wondering what his life was like, I began to wonder if he was taking care of himself. If his time during the offseason was going well, if he was having fun, if he was okay. I just kept thinking of him.” 

Hermione smiled softly and it was the same smile she used to direct at Ron when he was excited about something. 

“We became friends and I just never stopped thinking of him. Even when he was with Greyson, I couldn’t stop. I know it’s not right to want someone who’s taken, but I did. I wanted him, Hermione, I did, and I still do.” 

“Then tell him that.” Her eyes were firm, and he wanted that to be the push he needed but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough to convince him. 

“I don’t know if I can. I just want him to be happy.” 

“You think he can’t be happy with you?”

“I don’t know. I’ve spent so long thinking about him and if I’m not right for him, then what am I supposed to do? All of this can’t be for nothing. It can’t. He deserves more than that.” 

“So do you.” 

Harry shrugged, not sure if he had a verbal response in him. He knew she was right, but it was just hard. Love always was. 

_“Dots bypasses Bricks in an interesting manoeuvre, as we all know Dots usually partakes in owl plays and never quite gets the Quaffle on her own. This match is full of surprises.”_

A quick glance towards the arena had Harry frowning. Lee was right, Dots was an owl in every game, not a single instance could he remember where she had been able to get the Quaffle first and it not be passed by another player. 

_“Bricks zooms past the goal post in time for Dots to throw the Quaffle. Too much power in the throw it’s going to go right over the post. Gold would do well to let it pass, the Quaffle is not a threat it—wait Gold is making a move to block the Quaffle. No—what are you doing?”_

Harry watched the Portree’s Keeper undershoot the block and the Quaffle was caught by Bricks who passed it back to Dots. 

_“Gold is too far right and has abandoned the goal post in time for Dots to score. I’d say the plug of the team really has stepped it up, but I don’t know if that seems to be the case.”_

“Harry, what’s going on?”

“A plug is a term for a useless player.” 

“No, I _know_ that,” Hermione said with a huff. “I was married to Ron, and even though I don’t like Quidditch I learned about it. He sure talked about it enough.” 

“Oh,” Harry smiled sheepishly. “I don’t know. The match isn’t going as I expected it to at all.”

Hermione made a contemplative noise but when he looked at her, her eyes were narrowed, and her full attention was on the match. 

The longer the game passed the more obvious it was that something wasn’t right. 

“Did you see that?” Hermione said, voice scandalized in a way he had only ever heard when someone interrupted her studies.

“The Seeker for the Portrees saw the Snitch, I know he did.” 

“What?” Harry looked towards Hawthorn who seemed to be hovering above the other players on the hunt for the Snitch. 

“Here.” 

Ominoculars were pushed into his hands and he hadn’t been aware that she had brought any. But it was Hermione after all, always prepared. He hit the replay button and saw what she had—Hawthorn saw the Snitch and let it go. 

“What is their ranking? Do they need a lot of points in the match to win?”

“No,” Harry said as the crowd screamed as Lancashire scored, _again_. 

_“Bricks scores again, maintaining their lead as Lancashire is now 250-to-30 in what is an unusual game so far. The Portrees seem to have swapped skill level with doxy droppings today.”_

“The Portrees will advance no matter the outcome. Their position is locked in.” 

There was only one obvious conclusion.

“They’re throwing the match,” Hermione said confidently when the Portree’s Keeper failed to block another goal. “Why? Why would they do that?”

Harry slammed his hand on the railing in front of him when he recalled Greyson’s confident tone at the Players Club. 

“He’s throwing the match so that the Tornadoes get kicked off the ranking.” 

“He?”

“Greyson.” Harry clenched his fists. “Malfoy’s ex. I don’t know why his team would go along with it, but they are. Like I said earlier, if they lose, then Lancashire is put above the Tornadoes.”

_“Serpen nosedived and from the way Hawthorn followed they must have seen the Snitch. Is the end of the match approaching? Will Serpen secure the Snitch putting their already high lead that much higher?”_

“Merlin, it’s smart, brilliant actually,” Hermione mumbled as the crowd went silent and all eyes were on the two Seekers. “Foul, dirty-handed, cruel and low but absolutely _brilliant_.” 

“I—” Harry was tempted to look away, but he couldn’t, not when Hawthorn’s outstretched hand was just inches above Serpen’s. “What?”

_“It’s over, folks, it’s all over. Hawthorn catches the Snitch but it’s not enough to secure a win for the Pride of Portree. Lancashire wins 250-to-180.”_

The crowd went wild, and the screams were almost too much but Harry could barely hear it over the pounding of his ears. He was mad, livid even. As angry as he was, he couldn’t help but worry over how Malfoy would take it. 

Harry pulled Hermione with him as he made his way towards the reporters’ booth. Most reporters would be waiting in the field for after game interviews. 

“What did you mean when you said it was brilliant?” He asked after making sure the room was empty. 

Hermione ran her fingers through her hair before she puffed out her cheeks in a deep huff. 

“You said you didn’t understand why his teammates would go along with it but think about it. If you were guaranteed a spot in the league and potentially had to play against either the Tornadoes or Lancashire later on, would you rather play against the worst in the league or one ranked above?”

“I’d want to play whoever got in fairly.” 

Hermione cooed condescendingly and Harry scowled. 

“That’s cute, Harry. I love that you have morals but clearly, the Portrees don’t. By letting Lancashire win, they heighten their chances down the road of winning against them.”

“Because Lancashire is a worse team,” Harry finished for her and it made him want to hex something. 

“Can they get in trouble?” She wondered as Harry tried to get his anger under control. “Surely it’s against the rules.” 

“To what? Not play hard enough?” He scoffed. “No, unless money traded hands there’s nothing the league could do. It could ruin their reputation with the media but there’d have to be proof and again, with no money trading hands, it’d be hard to prove a damn thing.” 

“So they get away with it?” A frown marred her face as her brows merged and a wrinkle formed. “That’s not right.” 

“No,” Harry said, and the anger resurfaced. “It’s not.”

“You could report about it, couldn’t you? That’ll at least get the word out.”

Harry tilted his head to the side as he arched his brows. 

“Have I told you how brilliant you are lately?”

When Hermione grinned, it was less a smile and more a smirk, and he knew that she was the best person who could have attended the game with him. 

They were a scary duo. 

  


* * *

  
Harry watched most of the other reporters leave the field and knew it was his chance. One last look towards Hermione showed she was still talking with Dots and that was good for his plan. The path towards the announcer’s box was empty, another good sign. 

As he approached the door, he could hear arguing, the muffled shouts ominous. The sports reporter for the Daily Prophet had been the last one to interview Day but that should have ended already. It wasn’t until he pushed open the door that his plan went out the window. 

“I can’t fucking believe you.” It was said with a snarl that was low and sharp. “You really hate me that much.” 

“It’s not about you,” Greyson said with a scoff as he placed his hands on his hips. “It never was.” 

“That’s bullshit,” Malfoy spat as his wings spread out angrily and Greyson eyed them warily. “And you _know_ it.” 

Harry shifted nervously, he didn’t want to eavesdrop but if he had any chance of succeeding with his plan, then he _had_ to talk to Greyson soon. As he moved forward, the creak of the door drew their attention. 

“What do _you_ want?” Greyson sneered, and for the millionth time, Harry wondered what Malfoy could have ever seen in him. 

Harry ignored him and looked to Malfoy instead. He tried to gauge how upset Malfoy was, but it was hard when all that was there was anger. 

“I came to do your interview.” 

“I already spoke to a reporter.” 

“Yeah,” Harry said slowly as he blinked pointedly. “From a different paper.” 

Malfoy snorted and Harry tried not to smile but he knew his lips had quirked and by the way Greyson’s eyes narrowed, it was clear that he had been caught. 

“Now’s not the best time.” 

“Oh,” Malfoy laughed hollowly. “No, it’s the perfect time. Go ahead. Tell Harry why you threw the match, we all know you did.” 

When Harry made a show of pulling out his quill, Greyson cleared his throat. 

“I did no such thing. I was off my form and that’s all I’m going to say.” 

“Off your form?” Harry muttered as he pretended to write that down. “The whole team too? Some of those plays were worse than the ’01 trainee disaster where the Catapults lost two players because they thought their own team members were the opponent.”

“What does it matter? We advance no matter what.” 

“That’s the whole point, isn’t it?” Malfoy asked with a shake of his head. “You advance no matter what, but you wanted to make sure I didn’t.” 

“No. You aren’t advancing because you weren’t good enough, that has nothing to do with me.” 

“Not good enough?” Malfoy sucked in a sharp breath. “You would say that. Nothing I ever did was good enough for you.” 

Harry grimaced as he eyed the door and put away his stuff. If he had known that he’d be front and centre for their relationship issues, he wouldn’t have come in. 

“You never tried.” 

Malfoy’s fists clenched and so did his eyes. 

“All I ever did was try. My whole life all I have ever done is try.” Malfoy’s eyes opened and Harry wanted to step back at the anger he could see in them. 

“I tried to be what my parents expected of me and that ended in disaster. I tried to own who I am, and I was shamed for it. I tried to accept my Veela heritage and you made me feel like I was tainted for it. I tried to be a good partner and look at how that turned out. I tried to be a good Quidditch player and you sabotaged me. If that’s not trying, then what the fuck is?”

Harry inched towards the door when Malfoy’s voice cracked. As much as he despised Greyson, none of this was his business. 

“No,” Malfoy called out, hand extended towards him. “Don’t leave.”

There was no pleading in the tone, but his eyes were wide, and Harry couldn’t deny him. 

“You didn’t love me,” Greyson said and for the first time, Harry was able to hear a vulnerability that he hadn’t seen in him before. 

“No,” Malfoy agreed. “I didn’t. I wanted to, I tried to, but you weren’t right for me.” 

“And what was I supposed to do? Sit around and wait for you? Wait for you to love me?” Greyson looked away and Harry’s unease grew. “It’s your stupid Veela that was the problem.” 

Malfoy’s wings fluttered and Harry wasn’t sure if it was anger or instinct. 

“My Veela isn’t separate from me, I told you this hundreds of times.” Malfoy slammed his fist into his palm. “It’s not like a Werewolf that only makes its presence known during the full moon. My Veela _is_ me.” 

“It was only after you became one fully that you had a problem with me.” 

“I’ve always known that you weren’t right for me, _always_ ,” Malfoy whispered, and he bit his lip. “I tried so hard to make us work but I knew we never would. When I became of age for Veelas, my magic grew sensitive. So much is heightened, and I feel things, I can feel wavelengths and yours and mine don’t get along.” 

“You mean your Veela doesn’t like me,” Greyson sneered, and Harry rolled his eyes. How thick could one person be?

“Being a Veela only enhanced what I already knew,” Malfoy countered. “I couldn’t bear to keep settling, and as much as I know it hurts you, I was settling for you. I wanted someone to love me, I wanted it so bad that I was willing to let you belittle me and downgrade who I am. I deserve someone who acknowledges my faults but also loves my merits. Because as much as you try to deny it, I have merits, I have worth and you _can’t_ take that from me.” 

Greyson laughed and the sound was cold and unnerving. “Settling? You were settling for me. _You_. That’s rich.” 

Malfoy glared and his wings moved restlessly. 

“I settled for you the moment you became a Veela. That was when I knew that the time I invested was a mistake.” 

“Time,” Malfoy said quietly. “That’s what you want to call our relationship? Our engagement? Time?” 

“A waste of time.” 

When Malfoy’s wings drooped, Harry stepped forward and placed a hand on his shoulder. No words were exchanged but Malfoy reached up to hold on to Harry’s hand and he felt wings brush his back in a caress.

“I see,” Greyson said as he looked between them with hard eyes and pinched brows. “You always did make time for him.” 

“What?” Harry asked, head tilted to the side. 

“Don’t,” Malfoy shook his head. “Just don’t. Harry has nothing to do with this or us.” 

“Doesn’t he though?” 

Harry really wished he hadn’t entered. 

“Your Veela likes him, doesn’t it?”

“My Veela and I are the same. How many times do I have to explain it to you?” It was said through gritted teeth and the hand holding Harry’s tightened. 

Greyson spread his hands as he faux gasped. “That explains it then. You’ve always liked him.”

When Malfoy’s hand went lax, Harry gripped Malfoy’s shoulder harder in response. He wasn’t sure his message was received but he wanted Malfoy to know that he wasn’t going anywhere. 

“What I feel for Harry has nothing to do with us, it has nothing to do with the situation or why you would sabotage me.” 

“I didn’t sabotage you.” 

“Bullshit,” Harry said as he narrowed his eyes and fought the urge to hex him. “I know you did.” 

Perhaps it was the confident way Harry said it or maybe his stance in general, either way, Greyson stood up straighter and eyed the door. 

“If you look out the window, you should be able to see Carry Dots talking to someone down on the field,” Harry said as he watched Greyson’s brows furrow. 

“Dots as in the Lancashire’s Chaser?” Malfoy asked quietly as he turned towards Harry, the action brought the tips of his wings close enough to envelop Harry completely, almost like a hug and Harry couldn’t help but smile. 

“Once I found out that her younger brother had been arrested on misdemeanour charges, it was fairly easy to get her to talk.” 

“Dots knows nothing,” Greyson said at the same time Malfoy said, 

“Did you blackmail her?”

Harry snorted hard, far harder than he had in a long time. Blackmail. 

“It’s hard to tell from here, but she’s talking to Hermione. Who is the Department Head for the MLE. I don’t know if you know this, but Hermione has a soft heart and a juvenile arrested on petty theft doesn’t rank high on her priorities and she has no problem letting him go easily.” 

“What does it matter?” Greyson interrupted. “I already told you, Dots knows nothing.” 

“But Rudy Gold does, your Keeper.” 

Greyson stiffened at the name and Harry didn’t bother hiding his smirk. 

“Gold has a big mouth, and wouldn’t you know it, she was overheard. Dots informed her team. They knew that you’d throw the match but tried to perform their best anyway. They might be shit, they might be the lowest ranking team in the league, but they wanted to win fairly.” 

“So what?” Greyson shrugged, a broad grin stretched his lips and the sight made Harry want to punch him. 

“Even if you spin this false narrative, so what? There are no rules against throwing matches. The league can’t do a damn thing about it. Really, all you did was nothing.” 

Harry hummed as he tilted his head side to side a few times. “Sure, it’s not against the rules. Sure, the league can’t do anything about it. Sure, your team is still in and the Tornadoes are still out. But you know what I can do?”

There was a pause as Harry waited for the dramatics to kick in, or Greyson to grow impatient. It wasn’t until Greyson threw his hands in the air that he continued. 

“My job.” 

The silence that stretched was almost stilted and it was clear that Greyson didn’t understand by the way he scratched his head. 

“As a reporter,” He added unnecessarily. “You know, my job. My career, the whole reason I am here.” 

“It’s your word against mine.” 

“Perhaps,” Harry shrugged. “But my word comes with a hell of a reputation. While yours, does not.” 

Greyson folded his arms across his chest as his lips tilted downward. 

“What’s the point? Who cares what the public will think?”

Malfoy chuckled lowly as he leaned into Harry. “Reputations make or break a career. Especially for someone in the spotlight.” 

“I guess we’ll see then,” Greyson murmured before he brushed passed them. “At the end of the day, I still win.” 

“Yeah,” Harry said as the door opened. “We’ll see.” 

The room was silent after the door shut and Harry wasn’t sure what to say. Malfoy’s wings were still around him and it was nice—nice being with him, even for a moment. 

“Thank you,” whispered Malfoy. One of his wings moved gently across Harry’s arm and he didn’t want it to stop. “Always there to care, aren’t you? I might be in your debt.” 

“Don’t thank me for caring. Caring is the least I could do.” 

“No,” Malfoy argued. “Nothing is the least you could have done, but you didn’t. You cared, and that means more than you know.” 

Caring came easily to Harry. Sometimes, Ron said Harry cared too much but it was all he knew, it was all he understood. How could someone see a wrong and not want to fix it? How could someone not want to help others? 

“Let me thank you.” 

Harry turned until he was face to face with Malfoy. He was reminded of the night in the hallway, they were just as close, and his heart was beating just as fast as it had before. 

“Okay, thank me.” 

A slow smile spread on Malfoy’s face and it was truly Harry’s favourite sight to see. Elegant hands were placed on Harry’s shoulders as wings spread to their full width and it took his breath away at how beautiful Malfoy was. 

“Thank you, Harry.” 

Harry leaned forward till their noses touched and he took a deep breath before, “Thank you, Draco.” 

The deep inhale was shock, and the wide-eyed look he got in return matched it. Their eyes were locked, and he wasn’t sure what Draco was looking for, but he hoped his sincerity could be seen, could be felt. 

“What does that mean?” Draco asked, brows pinched as he bit his lip. “I don’t want to get my hopes up if you’re just going to let me go again.” 

With bated breath and an erratic heart, Harry cupped Draco’s cheek and his thumb rubbed circles in his skin. 

Draco’s wings flapped suddenly, and Harry wasn’t sure if it was nerves or excitement. 

“I wanted to protect my heart from getting hurt.” 

Draco shook his head slowly as a hand rose to rest on top of Harry’s. 

“I wouldn’t hurt you intentionally, never intentionally.” 

It was a testament to how far they had come that nothing needed to be said about their past. Harry knew Draco wouldn’t mean to hurt him, but that didn’t make his nerves go away, didn’t make it any easier to let someone in. 

“I know.” And he did. “Self-preservation doesn’t work if I’m only hurting myself.” 

When Draco’s eyes closed and he nuzzled Harry’s palm, Harry sucked in a sharp breath. 

“Then stop hurting yourself,” Draco whispered. “Let me in and I’ll do the same. Care for me and I’ll care for you. Love me and I’ll love you. But you gotta let me in, Harry.”

Courage has many sources, and over the years he had seen many different kinds, but as he stared into grey eyes that were so open and vulnerable, he let that be his courage. Harry let Draco be his source of strength and took the plunge. 

“I’ve been in love with you since your 5th win, back when you were on the Falcons and you had that God awful buzzcut.” 

The chuckle Draco released was wet and his face was filled with so much emotion. 

“I’ll have you know that I had style, I’m sorry we can’t all be as boring as you.”

When Harry said nothing, Draco cupped his cheek and as silly as it was that they both had a hand on each other’s cheek, Harry loved it, loved him. 

“That was years ago. _Years_ , Harry.” 

Harry closed his eyes tightly. “I didn’t know what I wanted and by the time I figured it out you were with Greyson and I would _never_ ruin your happiness, I couldn’t. Loving you was selfish, and indulging in that when you were taken would have been something I never could’ve forgiven myself for.” 

“Harry,” Draco’s voice cracked but he couldn’t look, couldn’t see the expression that would crack his heart too. 

“I told myself that if we were meant to be, I’d have to wait. So, I did, and I don’t regret it. I found myself along the way and that was worth it.” 

“You’re worth it.” 

Harry’s eyes opened and his vision was blurry but so was Draco’s and that was okay. 

“You’re worth it,” Draco repeated as his thumb wiped the corner of Harry’s eyes. 

“We both are,” Harry said softly, his smile a touch sad but filled with a lot of happiness. 

Draco leaned forward till their foreheads were pressed together. “Are you going to let me go again? Are you going to let me walk out of here alone?” 

“No. Not unless you want to leave. I’ll have you for as long as you want to stay.” 

“That’s the long haul,” Draco warned, voice breathless. “Are you prepared for that?” 

_“Always.”_

“I want to kiss you,” Draco said as his hand caressed Harry’s face. “But I want you to want to kiss me more.” 

Harry was smiling far too wide when their lips pressed together, it wasn’t an ideal kiss but when he felt Draco’s smile against his own lips, he knew that it was the best kiss he could have. 

“I wish you could feel it,” Draco muttered before he pressed a kiss to the tip of Harry’s nose. “I wish you could feel how we connect.” His nose trailed Harry’s cheek as more scattered kisses were pressed into Harry’s skin. 

“Tell me.” 

“My magic is heightened. I can feel so much of you and at times I wonder if it’s a violation, but I can’t turn it off. I can’t stop feeling you.”

“What do I feel like?”

“Pure energy. I don’t mean pure as innocent either, there’s no classification for that. I mean pure as in raw. I feel so much of who you are inside the wavelengths of your magic. It’s addicting, you’re addicting.” 

Harry was intrigued and he wanted to know more but he couldn’t concentrate with each press of lips against his skin. 

“Is that what other people feel like too?”

“No. I can’t feel them, not really.” 

Harry leaned away as he blinked rapidly. “You can’t feel anyone else?”

Draco sucked in his top lip as his eyes squinted. “Not really, no. I can feel little bits the longer I am around them, but I don’t feel anyone like I do you.” 

“What does that mean?” Many ideas popped into his head and each one made his heart race with things he didn’t want to think about, it was too soon. 

“We’ll have to find out, together.” It was said like a question and Harry melted at how hesitant Draco still was. 

“Together.” 

This time it was Harry’s turn to press kisses into Draco’s face and he revelled in the delighted laughter that reverberated around the room.

Harry could have honestly kissed Draco for hours, all day if he was allowed, but the door opened, interrupting them. Draco’s wings spread on instinct, as if defending them both. 

“Well now I know why you took so damn long,” Hermione huffed as she stopped in front of them with a smile on her face. Her smile was too wide, and her cheeks were pink enough that Harry was suspicious. 

“Did you just now get done talking to Dots?” 

When the blush spread, Harry grinned. 

“Oh, so it’s like that, huh? What exactly did you and Dots talk about?”

Draco let out a low gasp and Harry’s eyes flickered to him, curious. 

“You and Dots? Way to go Granger.” 

Hermione smiled so widely her nose scrunched up and Harry melted a bit. He hadn’t seen her that happy in years, far too long. 

“She wants to take me out on a date.” 

“That’s great, Hermione,” Harry congratulated. “She seems lovely.” 

“She’s a shite Quidditch player,” Draco said, and Harry pinched his hip which resulted in Draco’s wing clipping him on the back of his neck in retaliation.

“Oh, for sure,” Hermione said, tone nonchalant. “I mean, did you see the way she kicked her own Beater in the face on accident? I don’t care about that though, she was so interesting to talk to.”

“Oh yeah?”

“We were talking about the judicial system and how it’s lacking, right. I was explaining some of the things that I, as the Department Head, still need to work on and she brought up this fascinating take on—”

“Not to be rude,” Harry interrupted. “But can this wait?” He gestured between him and Draco pointedly. 

Hermione narrowed her eyes and huffed. “After all the time I have spent listening to you pine after Malfoy? I think not. You can listen to me prattle for a bit.” 

_“Oh?”_ The wicked quality to Draco’s voice had him sighing heavily and he blamed Hermione for it. “Do tell more, Granger.” 

“No,” Harry said quickly when Hermione opened her mouth. “Go ahead and tell us more about Dots.” 

“Us?” Draco asked and his mouth was turned downward as his nose scrunched up in distaste. “Why do I have to listen?”

“Together, right?” 

The deadpan expression he got in return made his lips quiver. Harry entwined their fingers and moved towards the door as he gestured for Hermione to continue. 

“As I was saying.” 

He half listened to Hermione as they walked out of the room. His attention was more on Draco than it was the story. Harry loved the way Draco was listening to her completely, his attention not wavering at all. There was something special about Draco, something that Harry couldn’t help but fall for. 

Part of him wasn’t sure what that was, wasn’t sure what it was about Draco that drew him in and made him want to stay. But he was going to find out, he was going to give them both a love that they deserved and when Draco squeezed his fingers lightly, attention still on Hermione, Harry knew that Draco would do the same. 

They were worth it, the both of them. 

They always had been. 

  


* * *

  
**Epilogue (Two years later)**

The cheering fans never got old, no matter how many years he heard them. The crowd filled him with more energy than any spell could. But Draco tuned them out to focus on the only thing that filled his heart with warmth. 

“You’ll do good, don’t worry,” Harry said as his hands roamed Draco’s shoulders. 

“Harry.” 

“I know their team is great, amazing even, but so is yours. Their Chasers are superb, and their Beaters are top notch.”

“How is that supposed to make me feel better?” He wasn’t nervous, no matter what Harry thought, but he would indulge his boyfriend if it made him feel better. 

_“Team Captain Kitumba has taken centre field for a last minute pep talk before the match begins.”_

Draco looked behind him to see that Lee was right and the opposing team was already on the field. 

“But what they don’t have is a superior Seeker,” Harry continued despite Draco’s lack of attention. “You are going to do amazing, I know you will.” 

“Thank you,” Draco said as he turned back towards Harry. “But I have to go soon.” 

“Okay.” Harry cupped Draco’s cheek and the touch was enough to relax his muscles, make his wings preen and his heart rate race. Every time Harry touched him, his magic responded and soothed him in ways that he wished Harry could feel. It was more than just their relationship, more than just their intimacy. They were Mates. 

Only… he hadn’t figured out a way to tell Harry that. 

_“Kitumba has had a record-breaking season taking top scores for best Keeper since 1990 both on and off her local team.”_

“No matter what happens, remember it’s just a match. You’ll have played to the best of your ability and I will be here for you, okay?”

“Why are you babying me?” Draco whispered as he placed his hand over Harry’s and relished in the way their magic combined. It wasn’t just physical, he could _see_ it, could see the waves of their magic moulding together, could see the tendrils of bright colours that mixed. And it happened every time they touched. 

Every time. 

“Because I love you.” 

Draco pressed a kiss to Harry’s palm and smiled at the burst of yellow and blue that their magic left behind as a residue, one that only he could see. 

“I love you too, but we’re going to kick their arses, I’m going to catch the Snitch and we’ll come out the victor.” 

_“Minutes away from the start of the match and England’s best Seeker is still on the sidelines.”_

Draco lifted his middle finger in the air and grinned when Lee’s laughter rang out across the arena. 

“I’ve got to go,” Draco murmured as he pressed a kiss against Harry’s nose. The bright burst of pink that remained made his wings flutter. Their connection was strengthening and would continue to do so the longer he ignored the urge to mate Harry.

Harry didn’t offer any last minute wishes, didn’t say good luck, didn’t say anything, but he did pull Draco into his arms and kiss him. The crowd screamed and Draco knew it wasn’t just his team’s fans, it was the majority of the arena. 

With one last peck, Draco pulled away. It took everything he had to not kiss Harry again when he saw the echo of teal on Harry’s lips. His instincts screamed to chase the colour until there was nothing left but a rainbow. 

_“Draco Malfoy makes it onto the field as the Ugandan National team takes to the sky. This starts the ’07 Quidditch World cup. England vs Uganda. Who will be the victor? Let’s find out.”_

Up in the air, Draco looked down on the crowd. He couldn’t make out individual faces, but he knew his teammates from the Tornadoes were down there cheering him on, knew that his friends were supporting him, but most of all, he knew that Harry would always be in his corner. 

They _would_ win, he _would_ catch the Snitch and after it was all over, he had a Mate to bond with. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This story actually came about due to my friend @forward-pass who told me some sports drama one day and I just had to make it Drarry. 
> 
> I would like to say that I know absolutely nothing about sports. I don't. I did a lot of research for this story. More than I ever wanted to do. I even watched several highlight reels to get a feel for how an announcer might word things too. I just really wanted to get in the vibe of the sports aspect. I do realize that Quidditch is something I could have just made up and run with but my mind wasn't satisfied with that. Idk I just had to do research and I hope it came across! 
> 
> Another thing. I chose to have Draco being a Veela as a background thing for a reason. A lot of stories I come across with either of them being a Veela, that is the main focus of the story. And while I love that, I didn't want that for my story. So this is what I came up with and I really hope you all enjoyed it. 
> 
> Let me know what you thought! I adore you all I will see you next time. 
> 
> -XxTheDarkLordxX


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